Naked Truth

Sheriff's Estate - Isobel's Room

Light in the city has faded, darkness looming over buildings. Stars twinkling in the sky above. On any other night, Isobel would be out feeding upon a willing donor, or one who is curious but afraid to ask for it. This evening is different. Though the sun has barely set, she is awake. She is awake and digging through a large wardrobe, trying to find an appropriate outfit.

Were she not a vampire, she would look rather like a young woman preparing for a big date - not that she has anything planned, per se. Her state of undress is apparent, the only thing she wears is a slinky crimson thong. Several outfits are piled up on the bed, each one tossed there with a 'tch' of disdain.

Somewhere nearby, a door opens on quiet hinges, and a soft pair of knocks on the door precede the entrance of the estate's other chief occupant, who doesn't bother to wait for permission. William Grant, dressed in only a white bathrobe and a pair of black shorts enters, silent footsteps carrying him with gentle ease.

"Good evening," says he, as he steps through the door. His hair is even a little tousled; perhaps someone has just arisen.

The fact that she's nearly nude doesn't even cross her mind. Isobel merely peers her head out from behind the door of the wardrobe, closing it gently. "Good evening, Valentine. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Could it be that the Sheriff is actually smiling at the moment? Happy, perhaps? An odd occurrence since Will has been returned. A hand delves into the wardrobe and she pulls out another garment, holding it to herself then tossing it aside.

Will has the decency to cast an approving glance over Isobel, before he lean idly against a wall, bathrobe falling open and hands clasping behind him. "You know," says he, "I am not entirely certain." His tone is humoured, even vaguely cheerful. "Perhaps I simply enjoy spending a little time with such an important woman."

The approving glance is returned. "Did you /miss/ me, my liege?" Isobel is teasing him, while at the same time admitting respect of him. "There is someone I would like you very much to meet, though I do know that your schedule is quite full these days. Perhaps you can make an exception in this instance?"

"If by 'full' you mean idle chatter with various visiting idiots interrupted by occasional visits to bars," Will replies, with vast and sarcastic amusement, "then I fear I could weather an addition to my otherwise exceptionally busy life." He begins to scan the clothes on the bed. "Occasionally," he adds, "I lament the fact that I did not know you when you were alive. You are beautiful, Isobel."

Had he known her when she were alive, he would have seen a terrified little woman who was about to become a prudish nun. His compliment is met with a smile, and several steps toward him to show herself off. Isobel has no shame of her body these days, and is vain like most women, enjoying soaking up the praise. "Occasionally, I lament the fact that you had to turn me so swiftly that you could not enjoy the interaction." Her eyes drift back to the clothing, and she winks at him. "Attempting to find the perfect outfit for our future outing."

"Perhaps some time I will have opportunity to explore that error at great length," Will says, teasingly. He does continue to look over the bed. "Planning in advance?" he wonders, shifting a look back towards Isobel, scanning over her before resting an intrigued, penetrating look on her face. "You like this one, or are desperate to impress. A visiting dignitary?"

"It 'tis your desire, my liege, you need but to ask," Isobel replies, feigning holding a fancy fan and fluttering it before her face like a practiced courtesan. "I wish to look my best for our outing. After all, the Sheriff in public with the King is sure to turn a few heads." Her face, though seemingly happy, is rather impassive on the subject. "He reminds me of you."

"Ah," Will laments, theatrically, "if there is no chase then there is no fun." He continues to study his child, a direct and penetratin look. "Reminds," he says, flatly. "Precisely how does this man remind you of me?"

"Allow then," Isobel says, moving only to retrieve her robe from the bed and slip it on, "the chase to begin." Tying the robe snugly she turns to face her Maker once more. "Appearance, a little. Demeanor, slightly. He is to become a priest within six months, I believe." The last tidbit is offered quietly, knowing that it will more than likely catch his ire.

Indeed, the look that travels between them falls cold, and hard, even stretching towards hostile. "You wish me," he says, coldly, "to meet a future version of myself. Or at least, an analogue thereof." Slowly, his head shakes. "Do not manipulate the man in any way."

"I am not she," Isobel says gently. A forward step is taken. "Valentine, I was extremely up front with him. The only thing that he does not know in regards to me is my importance in the vampire community, as that is on a need to know basis, and he needs not know it at this point." The hostility sizzles in the air, but she's doing her best to diffuse it. "We have had several frank discussions on whether he truly wishes to take up the cloth. He offered to guide me around this city of yours which has now become mine own, and in return I offered him the opportunity to explore his doubts."

Though listening, the King of Texas, rigid and dangerous, offers only a few words. Cold and hard, deadly and implacable. "Did you understand my order?" Utterly still. "Or am I obliged to enforce it upon you?" As he is capable as her Maker, that is.

"There will be no manipulation," Isobel says firmly. "Which is /why/ I wish to introduce him to you. So that you are able to see so for yourself. I am not Ysolde, and I take a deep offense to being thought of in such a manner." Her voice is icy, neutral, and the smile now gone. "He is open to learning more about us, and to fighting for vampire rights within the church. I thought you would be pleased to meet such a man."

"Then I shall meet him," says Will, "and I shall see if he is worthy of your respect and your attention." His tone starts to fall easy again, the rigidity flowing away like a sparkling stream. "Perhaps I will like him, or perhaps I shall be so thoroughly embittered with jealousy that I shall despise him."

As the tone returns to the easy nature, Isobel relaxes a smidgeon. "Thank you, Valentine." Her look flits back to the wardrobe, then falls upon him. "Is your red-head worthy of the respect and attention you have been showering on her of late? Has she been having any difficulties from within the vampire community?"

"Considering how recently I have obliterated a vampire six hundred years my senior," Will replies, mildly, "I feel that it is unlikely that she will be approached with trouble." His attention flicks around the room, now. "I am considering bringing her amongst us. As is she. You should inform me when you are aware what colour you shall be wearing."

Isobel opens her mouth to speak, quickly thinking better of it and pressing her lips together. Without a sound, the wardrobe is once again inspected, and she pulls out a crimson single shoulder dress with a mesh stretch from bosom to hips. "Crimson," she says, holding the dress up to her body. Very form fitting. "Have you heard from Fontane?"

The King nods to her choice of colour. « What were you about to say? » he asks, mentally throwing the conversation to a more intimate, direct form of communication. He does push himself from the wall, starting to wander languidly towards the bed. "Apparently young Dietrich Eberle is discussing vampire politics in public. This is likely your business, and I shall inform Fontane of such. Your discretion, your city."

« Have you informed her that she will not be with you forever, Valentine? » Not entirely what she was about to say, but it is very close. "Ahh, then you received the same message as I. My only course of action would be to present him to the Magister for punishment. Killing him is not an option as he aided in your rescue." Even though he injured Mary as he did so. "If you wish him brought to you instead, I will see that it is done."

« Not yet, » he replies, mildly. « One step at a time. » He turns in place, letting himself fall onto the bed in with inhuman grace that leaves him delicately posed, catlike. "It is time that the Magister is allowed to play, I feel. I do not wish to appear to be throwing my nose in to other's business, and a trip to our good lawmaking friend should provide a clear warning to the masses."

The crimson dress is carefully brought across the room and hung gently on a specialty rack. Isobel steps behind a folding room divider, and begins to put the dress on in order to get opinion. "The Magister is still busy in Austin, dealing with the remnants of the VVEMT." A few adjustments are made, and out she steps in the beautifully designed dress, that shows off just enough of her body so as to be tantalizing. "I will bring it to his attention, however, and see how he wishes to proceed. Our laws are clearly stated, and this goes above and beyond breaking a human law."

"I do not wish to be seen stepping on your toes," Will responds. "You must stamp your own authority, else be seen forever as my puppet. Although for the sake of everything that is holy, please ensure there is evidence or reliable witness before making a public accusation." For a slow moment, the King lounges gently on his side, supported by only an elbow. "If you require my assistance to bring him in, simply call."

A twirl is given, head tilting slightly. "What do you think?" Isobel eyes her Maker, then nods curtly. "The most suitable punishment at this point, would be to bind him in silver, with a silver gag or a silver clamp to his tongue until he repents." A slightly evil gleam in her eye as she adds, "Or perhaps slice his tongue off with a silver knife."

"Enchanting," Will murmurs. "I shall have something made to match." He does ponder her words, briefly, still sketching a look over her dress (and taking the opportunity to look at what is beneath). "A little harsher perhaps than I would choose, but this is your city. Remember, we have only the word of a mortal to say that this has truly occured. A mortal who has been responsible for the deaths of two of our kind, as well as threatening to bring the military down upon us. A highly excitable young man who only lives because he amuses me."

"I wish to turn him," Isobel says thoughtfully in regards to Ivan, "but I doubt he would accept unless it were a dire situation." A verbal pout. "I will investigate, and speak to Mr. Eberle before taking a course of action." A smile comes at the harsher comment. "Then it mayhaps be best to investigate and provide you with the information. Though I wish to be harsh, I do not wish to come off as a madwoman."

"If he comes to us voluntarily, he will become a valuable asset," Will muses, turning to lie back properly on the bed. He allow a brief smile, amused, at the final comment. "Oh no," he says, "each Sheriff has their style, and I shall not cramp yours. This one is yours."

Reaching back, she unzips the dress. Isobel slowly begins to allow it to drop to the floor. Once it puddles about her feet, she steps neatly out of it and then situates herself on the edge of the bed. "Ivan Fontane will never voluntarily come to us, not after what happened to that Tyler girl." Eyes drift languidly in his direction. "You would never cramp mine."

"Once he is great and strong," Will explains, "and reaches the grand old age of thirty or so, or when something comes along that convinces him of his mortality, then he will come to us." His eyes close, and hands link behind his head. "He will eventually realise that there are monsters in every race, though we have perhaps a greater share. He cannot blame a species for one single member's actions for ever. In addition, should we require it, I possess footage of him engaging in torture and murder. I sincerely hope we never have to use it, since that would turn him against me forever."

"Three, possibly four years then," Isobel says with a smirk. "A brief blip to wait, though it hardly helps us obtain the five that are required." Stretching out beside her Maker on the bed, she raises a brow. "I trust that Nishimura is no longer among us then? Pity. He was a fair hand at weaponry."

"Nishimura left the state suddenly," Will replies easily, not bothering to quite lie. The exact meaning of the word 'state' can be interpreted, after all. "Any plans for the evening?"

"Beyond that which I am already doing, no. Perhaps a brief appearance at Mary's to feed." Isobel keeps her eyes upon the ceiling, unmoving. "Why?"

"Interest in the affairs of a beautiful woman," Will replies, idly, as he turns again, leaning up on an elbow to regard Isobel with easy grace. He reaches his spare hand out, to brush gently against her cheek. "I am simply deciding what to do today."

"Flattery will go very far, my dear Maker," Isobel replies, barely moving as he touches her cheek. "Might I suggest dinner theater? While you cannot enjoy the food, the show would be fairly amusing. Inaccurate, but amusing."

Will lets his fingers drift along her cheek, and back up to flow gently over her hair. "Perhaps. Inaccuracies are growing irritating. I may find a hapless mortal and be their salvation."

"What if you could do away with the inaccuracies?" Isobel smiles at him wryly. "As you were my salvation, Valentine, I would be very cross if that is how you intended to spend your evening." The words, while seemingly a reprimand, are light and airy.

"I could," Will responds, "but I will not." He does stop stroking her hair now, instead allowing a gentle smile. "I have been so many things to so many people. Perhaps I should allow you to learn salvation as a hobby."

"I have been considering purchasing the franchise and hosting one accurate event each week," Isobel offers idly. Leaning up on her elbow, she glances at him curiously. "Learn salvation as a hobby?"

The older vampire again shakes his head. "Accuracy would lead to questions that we may not wish to answer." He looks down on Isobel. "There are those for whom fear will bring about a change to their lives. I occasionally action such change."

Isobel considers, then states, "While I agree somewhat, they also know that we exist now and that such historical accuracy can be afforded to them if they desire it. The venture may still be purchased, as I wish to learn falconry." Which is difficult at best to do at night. "Then I shall be a willing student, my liege. Allow me a few moments to dress myself appropriately, and I shall be yours for the evening."

"If you want it," Will says, "buy it. I shall see you upstairs." Suddenly, he is a dark blur, away from the room and the woman. Off to get changed.

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